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VOL. I.
,The following beautiful poem is from The Chapter,
f volume in press by Shelddn Si Cos., a collection of
I poems prepared for the press by Samuel Marsh, Jr., of
Staten Island. The authoress is Mrs. John L. Flagg,
the wife of the Mayor of Troy, N. Y.]
After the Battle.
A waste of land, a sodden plain,
A lurid sunset sky, *
Mild clouds that tied and faded fast
In ghostly phantasy;
A field upturned by trampling feet,
A field up-piled with slain,
With horse and rider blent in death.
Upon the b«ttl^plaic.
The dying and the dead lie low;
For them no nfore shall rise
The evening moon, nor midnight stars, ‘
Nor daylight’s soft surprise.
They wake no more to tenderest call,
Nor see again each home
Where waiting hearts shall throb and break
When this day’s tidings come.
* * * * * * *
Two soldiers lying as they fell
Upon the reddened clay,
In daytime foes, at night at peace,
Breathing their lives away.
Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast,
Fate only made them foes;
And lying, dying, side by side,
A softer feeling rose.
•‘Our time is short,” one faint voice said,
“To-day we did our best
On different sides; what matter now ?
To-morrow we’re at rest.
Life lies behind; I might not care
For only my own sake,
But far away are other hearts
That this day’s work will break.
“Among New Hampshire’s many hils
There pray for me to night
i A woman, and a little girl,
With hair like golden light—”
And at the thought, broke forth at last
The cry of anguish wild,
That would not longer be repressed—
“o God! my wife—my child ! ”
“And,” said the other dying man,
“Across the Georgia plain,
There watch and wait for me loved ones
I’ll never see again.
A little child, with dark bright eyes,
Each day waits at the door
The father’s step, the father’s kiss
That never greet her more.
“To-day we sought each other’s lives—
Death levels all that now;
For soon, before God’s mercy seat
Together we shall bow.
Forgive each other while we may;
Life’s but a weary game;
And, right or wrong, to-morrow's sun
Will find us dead the same.”
The dying lips the pardon breathe,
The dying hands entwine;
The last ray dies, and over all
The stars from heaven shine;
And the little girl with golden hair,
The one with dark eyes bright,
On Hampshire’s hill and Georgia’ plain,
Were fatherless that night.
UNDER SUSPICION.
A dark day it was for us when the
constable took poor Jamie to jail. He
was ;t hoy, scarced turned of twenty, and,
though Pm his mother that says it, an
honester lad or better son never lived,
hver since his father died, he labored
hard and faithful, and ‘twas not in the
'ham shops he spent his earnings, either,
hut lie brought them home every Satur
day night, whenever it came, and he used
to lay the bright silver dollars in my lap,
a od then he’d say, with his canny smile:
“Here’s the money, mother, that will
huy us our Sunday dinner, and all the
good things for next week.”
I Pad noticed for a long time that
•Jamie and Maggie Bryan were very
huul of each other, and I was not sorry
to notice it, for I knew the boy would be
wanting to get married some day, and
a ? Hcer, neater, girl, than Maggie, was
Not to be found.
I was a mile from our little cottage to
"here Maggie lived, and on Sunday
! n c’d s Jarnie would clothe himseP'in his
and walk over there, and when he
‘ a 1110 back, if I chanced to be up, it did
good to look into his happy, contented
f ;Ce ' :is he raked up the mouldering logs
in the fire place, and took his seat by the
chimney corner. I could tell by the half
dreamy expression of his eyes that he
saw Maggie’s soft curls and rosy cheeks in
the flames, and that he was in love.
One Sunday night, however, when he
came home later than usual, there was
a troubled, puzzled look on his face, and
he didn't smile nor speak any of his
pleasant words, but just paced the" floor in
a nervous manner, and seemed doubtful
whether or not to tell me something that
burdened him.
I ain’t question him. for I concluded
that he had had a quarrel with Maggie,
and if ’twas a heart wound that troubled
him,, talking about it coukt but open it
wides. ■
lie'went to bed very soon after lie came
in. I was about to do the same, when I
heard the fire bells in the village ringing'.
I went to the door, and looking out, I
saw a great light in the direction of one
of the churches. I was glad our cottage
was not situated in the heart of the town,
for these fires had become very common
of late, and the newspapers said thatthere
was a gang of men engaged in kindling
them, and that nobody’s property was
safe, though it was not dwelling houses
they burnt, but barns, and churches, and
public buildings.
A SI,OOO reward had been offered for
the arrest of the incendiaries, but, who
ever they were, they kept clear of the
authorities.
I don’t know how it happened, but as
I stood at the door, listening to the bells,
they seemed to say every time they
clanged, “Ja-raie lii-ley, Ja-mie Ri-ley!”
and I could not resist associating my dear
boy’s name with some awful crime.
I slept hut poorly that night, ami
being awake very early in the morning,
I heard Jamie come softly down the
stairs, and go out at the door. After a
time I got up, and just as as I had
placed the breakfast on the table, Jamie
came in.
He looked very pale, and he had no
appetite for his food.
I began to be frightened about him.
“Jamie,” said I, “are you sick, or what
ails you ?”
“No, mother,” he answered, “I’m not
sick, and I cannot tell you what troubles
me!”
Then lie rose from the table, and put
ting on his hat, he started for the factory
where lie worked. He took up the tin
pail in which I always placed his lunch,
but he did it as if by habit; nor did he
stop to inquire, as was his custom, what
it contained.
I felt worried all day. Some trouble
seemed hanging over us, but what it was
I couldn’t guess.
In the afternoon Maggie .Bryan came
in to see me. She was very handy with
the needle, and the folks who lived in the
big house, on yonder hill, hadsent for her
to do some sewing. She was returnrng,
and had cabled to tell me how kind the
lady had been to her, and how much pay
she had reeived for her work. Maggie
saw in a moment that I was not in good
spirits, and so she ceased her pleasant
prattle, and asked in a serious tone ;
“Has anything bad happened, Mrs.
Riley ? You seem sorrowful to-day.”
Then I spoke out boldly.
“You have quarreled with Jamie—
have you not, Maggie ?”
“Nay, nay, Mrs. Riley,” she answered.
“I quarrel with Jamie ? You know I love
him dearly.”
And then the sweet girl blushed at her
own confession.
You may guess that this knowledge
didn't ease my rnind much. How now
could I account for Jamie’s pale face and
nervous manner ?
It did not seem possible to me that the
lad could have done any wrong act, but I
couldn’t, forget how the bells seemed to
ciang, “Jamie Ri-ley, Ja-mie Ri-ley,”
and when I remembered the boy’s strange
actions, an awful fear grew upon me.
tried in vain to discover what
.A.TJGTJST.A, GAg NOVEMBER 14, 1868.
disturbed uie. She went away in a little
time, but promised to call again the next
day; “for I’m afraid the fever is coming
on you,” she said, as she kissed me, and
bade me good-bye.
After she bad gone, I busied myself in
getting ready the supper, for Jamie al
ways enjoyed his supper, and what won
der that, with a hard day’s work, an early
breakfast, and only a lunch at noon, he
should eat heartily 2 -at night. I baked
some biscuits and kept them smoking
hot, cooked a nice bit of meat, and boiled
the potatoes, and then F got out a lit
tle dish of preserves, and*steeped the tea.
Just in the nick of time, as we say,
and when everything was ready, Jamie
came in. ITc looked more cheerful than
he did in the morning, and smiled and
praised the appearance of the table.
But there was a look of firm and reso
lute determination in his face that I had
not seen there before, and it troubled me
to know what it betokened.
“Well, mother,” he said, “if everything
is ready we’ll eat, for I’m as hungry as a
bear, and after supper I’ve something
important to tell you.”
These last words he spoke hesitating
ly, but I was glad to know that he was
about to unburden his soul of whatever
secret it contained.
So we sat down to the table. I was
just pouring out the tea, when there
came a loud anid unexpected rap at the
door. I opened it, and found Mr. Keat
ing, the constable. He lived not far off,
and had been a friend of my husband’s.
“Good evening, Mr. Keating,” I said.
“Good evening, madam,” lie replied ;
“does James Riley live here?”
“Anddou’tyou know he lived here ?”
I answered.
“Is he at home ?”
“Supposing he is—what then ?”
“I must see him. I have an order for
his arrest.”
“What do you mean by that ?” I asked
angrily. “Surely you’re joking, Mr.
Keating. You certainly wouldn’t carry
Jamie to jail? You know he’s never done
any evil deed!”
“It’s a sad duty,” answered the con
stable; “but arrest him I must, if he’s in
this house.”
“Well, he’s not In the house, nor has
he been to-night.”
Before the words were fairly out of
my mouth, Jamie himself stepped to the
door.
He had listened to all our conversa
tion, and now he spoke, in his clear,
manly voice:
“I’m ready to accompany you, Mr.
Keating; but with what crime am I
charged ?”
Mr. Keating spoke very low, so that l
should not hear, but hear I did, and the
words made me faint and sick. I tried to
banish the horrible suspicion of my son’s
guilt, but I could not forget how the bells
had clanged the night before.
“Mr. Keating,’* I said, as calmly as I
could, though my voice trembled, “will
you let me speak to my son, alone, one
minute.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Riley.”
I hen the lad came into the room, and
the constable stood without the door,
and I took my boy’s hand in mine, and,
looking up into his face, I spoke these
words :
“James Riley, by the love you bear
me; by the memory of your dead father;
by the hope of your soul’s salvation,
speak truly. Are you guilty or inno
cent ?”
“Innocent mother—before God, inno
cent !” and lie bent down and kissed my
wrinkled forehead, and lifted the great
load of doubt from my mind.
“Then go, darling,” 1 said, “and may
the Lord in his mercy watch over you,
aud bring you forth from this tribulation.”
So Jamie went away with the consta
ble, and I sat all night by the tire-place,
moaning and crying, as I thought of my
poor boy in the stone-cold cell of the jail.
When morning dawned I tried to rouse
myself for the duties of the day, but, oh,
how lonely and desolate the little kit
chen looked, and when I laid the table
and put Jamie’s plate in its accustomed
place, and thought how for long days he
would not be there to eat an} r more, my
eyes filled with tears, and I could do
nothing.
The news of Jamie’s arrest spread
quickly through the village. When they
told it to Maggie Bryan, the brave girl
tied on her hood, and going straight to
the jail, demanded an interview with her
lover.
She never doubted his innocence for a
moment and, there, with the bleak, dreary
walls surrounding her, she vowed to re
main faithful and true to him always,
and devote every energy to secure his
vindication and release.
Her presence cheered Jamie, and she
came from the jail to my cottage, bring
ing many hopeful messages from the dear
boy. From her, I first learned in full
the charge against him.
It seems that, on Sunday night, Jamie
had been seen near the Presbyterian
Church, shortly before the fire was dis
covered there.
Nor, was that the worst. Joseph Mil
ward, whose father owned the factory
where my son worked, was ready to swear
that he saw Jamie rush from the vicini
ty of the vestry, where the fire broke
out, and that he spoke to him as he pass
ed. David Butler, a wealthy } r oung man,
was Mil ward’s companion, and his state
ment was the same,
Jamie’s examination—the preliminary
examination they called it—took place on
Tuesday. The Magistrate heard the evi
dence, and said that he must commit the
prisoner to await the action of the
Grand Jury. We might have got him
out on bail, but there was none to be
come his bondsmen; for though Jamie
had plenty of friends, they were all poor.
The boy spoke no harsh words whatever.
“’Twill make no difference, mother,”
he said, when I first saw him in his cell,
“for the Jury is in session, and if they
(ind an indictment against me I shall be
tried in a few days. You have money
enough saved up to live on these many
weeks, and they will acquit me in the
end.”
“But, Jamie,” I asked, “what does
young Milward mean by his evidence ?
He has perjured himself, has he not?”
Jamie hid his face in his hands for a
moment, then looking up, lie said resol
utely :
“I can’t answer your question, mother;
God must judge betwecu him and me.”
Then, changing the subject, “Can you
get me a lawyer, mother?”
“Os course I can, and will.
And, after a little more talk, I left
Jamie and sought the office of ’Squire
Carnan. A g®od man the ’Squire was,
and an honest lawyer. When he discov
ered who I was and my business, he told
me bluntly that he did not wish to under
take the ease.
“Aud are you afraid that I’ll not pay
you ?” I asked. “Indeed, sir, if it costs
years of labor, you shall receive every
cent that you charge.”
He smiled sadly.
“No madam, ’tis not the money,” he
said; “but Ido not like to feel that the
saving of anybody’s life depends on my
efforts.”
“Life,” I replied; “would they hang
Jamie ?”
“If found guilty, in all probability
they will,” he replied.
1 scarcely knew what I said, but I
begged and implored Mr. Carnan to save
the poor boy. At last he consented to
visit him; “and if I am convinced of his
innocence,” he added, “I will endeavor
to obtain his acquittal.”
So the ’Squire went to the jail, (as I
was told afterwards,) and saw my son
alone in his cell.
“James,” said he, kindly, “I want to
know the truth in this case. My position
as a lawver, and the rules of the Court
render whatever you may tell me now a
sacred secret. By acknowledging your
guilt—if you are guilty—l shall be able to
shape my defence so as to obtain the
lightest possible punishment.”
“Then Jamie stood up boldly in his
cell, and raising his right hand towards
Heaven, he said :
“Mr. Carnan, they may hang me if
they want to, but I am entirely innocent
of this charge, and I am willing to die
wfith these words on my lips.”
Ti ie lawyer looked steadily into Jamie’s
eyes for a moment, and he must have
seen truth written there, for he took his
hand, and said:
I believe you, Riley, and I will de
fend you. Now tell me where you were
last Sunday night ?”
Well,” answered Jamie, “I spent the
evening at a friends’s house, in the
Northern part of the village. I returned
home between eleven and twelve o’clock.”
“And passed the Presqyterian Church
on your way ?”
“I did,” replied Jamie.
“Did you see any one in t hat vicinity ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who ?”
“I cannot answer that question, Mr.
Carnan.”
Then the lawyer sat, and thought
for a little while, and without auother
word, he left the cell and went straight
to his office; nor did Jamie see him again
until the day of the trial.
Buthe was not idle in the meantime,
and when I called on him once, he told
me to be of good cheer; that lie believed
my son to be innocent, and hoped to clear
him.
Maggie Bryan grew paler and paler
day by day, and it was little sleep that
she got at nights*. When the thought
less villagers talked of Jamie’s guilt, her
cheeks turned red, and her eyes flashed
bright as the stars in Heaven.
The trial came off in two weeks—and
long weeks they were to me; but I
prayed for strength, and I think the good
Lord heard my prayers, and he gave me
power to bear my cross.
A great crowd there was in the Court
room when the day came.
Jamie was led in by the constable, and
took his seat in the prisoner’s box, as
calm and collected as though be had
been sitting by the fireside at home.
Mr. Carnan, was seated near Jamie,
and his face looked very serious, while
he showed by all his actions that he was
deeply interested in the case.
Maggie and I had a seat together, but
we scarcely spoke a word during the pre
paration for the trial. We thought it
would occupy the whole day, but it came
to an unexpected termination.
Joseph Milward was the first witness
called. He told the same story that he
had at Jamie’s former examination.
1 remember the scene well.
The District Attorney had asked the
question, and, having finished, he said :
“That will do, sir.”
Milvvard was about to leave the wit
ness stand, when Mr. Curium spoke up:
• “We will, cross-examine the witness.”
Oh! what a cross-examination that
was! And what an excitement there was
in Court.
The old Judge dropped his spectacles,
the District Attorney looked blank, the
Jury scratched their heads, and the vast
crowd kept still as mice, that they might
hear every word.
Mr. Carnan had ferreted out the
whole case, and from the mouth of that
same witness lie proved that Joseph
Milward and his companion were the
guilty parties, and that they had been
aided by many of the wealthy young
men of the village, and, before he had
finished, the District Attorney jumped
up and said :
“May it please the Court, we throw up
the case.”
Then Jamie was discharged forthwith
and the people gathered around to shale
hands with him; but he hastened awa c
No. 35.